


A Mile Away With Their Shoes

by aralias



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Episode s02e05 Pressure Point, F/M, Gen, Handcuffed Together, Season/Series 02, Unexpected Friendship, odd couple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 13:15:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2813261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aralias/pseuds/aralias
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gan and Orac are stuck together for a while.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Mile Away With Their Shoes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mithen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mithen/gifts).



“Sorry, Avon,” Gan said for what was probably the fifth time in the last hour. "This is all my fault.”

“I am - _concentrating_ ,” Avon said through gritted teeth.

“It takes the fun out of it for him, if you say it,” Vila said. He was sitting cross-legged on the diagnosis coach next to Gan, and grinned dazzlingly when Avon looked up to glare at him.

“Sorry,” Gan said again.

Avon’s hand slipped. He dropped the probe he’d been poking into Orac’s insides and snarled in frustration.

Gan cast around for something else to say, but the only thing that came to his lips was, “Sorry, Avon.”

Blake chose this moment to poke his head into the medical bay, his hands either side of the doorway to support himself. “Progress?”

Cally shook her head. “Gan and Orac are still irreparably bonded together. Avon and I have tried several approaches-”

“None of which have been successful,” Avon said, turning on Blake. “It’s time you faced the facts, Blake-”

“And let you cut open Orac’s side?” Blake asked. “That _will_ not happen. We all heard Orac – he doesn’t want you to try anything like that before you’ve spent a lot more time studying his workings.”

“Sounded downright scared, if you ask me,” Vila said. “Mind you,” he said thoughtfully, “I’d be scared too if Avon came at me with a saw.”

“ _It_ is only a machine,” Avon said, with a scowl in Vila’s direction. “It doesn’t get a vote. It doesn’t feel pain, or fear. It simply a machine – a very valuable machine that is currently stuck to an idiot!”

“Hey!” Vila protested, significantly angrier than he had been on any of the many occasions that Avon had called _him_ an idiot. “It was you who left your stupid glue out on the side, genius.”

Unfortunately, rather than making him feel pleased, Vila’s support made Gan feel even more embarrassed than he had been before. Vila didn’t even think he could defend himself.

“We all agree Orac is valuable,” Blake said, looking round at all of them before his gaze stopped, as it often did, on Avon. “Which is all the more reason, Avon, not to start cutting into him without knowing what we’re doing.”

“You can cut my hand off, if you need to separate us,” Gan suggested. “It’s not as though I’m doing anything particularly useful with it, thanks to the limiter. If it needs to be done, then it needs to be done. I won’t harm Orac due to my stupidity.”

The other four all stared at him for a moment, and then Cally said firmly and slightly more loudly than usual,

“Nobody is cutting off any part of _anybody_. In a week or two weeks, Gan’s skin will have completely regenerated, and the adhesive will remove itself _naturally_.”

More silence and then Avon stalked from the room, past Blake, who shrugged ruefully and followed him out. Vila jumped down from the lounger and clapped Gan on the shoulder.

“Nice going – pretending you would just chop your hand off. Clever. Very clever. It really rattled him.”

“I wasn’t pretending,” Gan told him honestly.

Vila frowned. “Oh,” he said.

*

Gan carried Orac back to his cabin. The computer was heavy for its size, but nothing he couldn’t handle. He wouldn’t go for any long walks while his left hand was stuck firmly to Orac’s side, that was all. No need to worry. Although, Gan reflected ruefully, he’d be even more useless now on Blake’s missions than he had been before. 

Then again, Gan thought, perhaps Blake would find it useful to have Orac more obviously mobile. Perhaps he should have volunteered to carry Orac long ago. Orac was certainly more useful than him – Blake had practically said as much back in the medical bay when he’d said that _Orac_ was valuable.

 _Probably nothing more than a slip of the tongue, though,_ Gan told himself.

“I’m sure I’ll feel better in the morning,” Gan said bracingly, out loud to make sure he took note of himself. He still felt depressed, though, even hearing the words ring out cheerfully in the room. It just reminded him he was alone, which was something he wanted to be even less than he wanted to be useless.

A thought struck him, and he removed Orac’s key from his jacket pocket. As he did so, it occurred to him that he wouldn’t be able to take the jacket off while Orac was still attached to him. He would have to rip it. And then he’d have to find something else to wear that he could still get on. For now he decided just to sleep in his clothes, and try not to worry about it.

He slotted the key into place and heard the now-familiar whine and whirr of Orac stirring back to life. The lights inside the transparent box began to flash.

“ _Yes_?” Orac said. “What it is?”

“Hullo Orac,” Gan said. “It’s me. Gan.”

“Kindly refrain from stating the obvious,” Orac said. “Your time may not be valuable, but mine most certainly is.”

This was so similar to what had been passing through Gan’s mind before he’d switched Orac on that he felt his spirits drop still further. Nothing he could think of to say didn’t sound obvious and pointless. What could he say to someone who could predict the future and knew practically everything? Surely everything that anybody had to say was obvious and pointless to Orac. How could even Avon find the confidence to address the computer?

“ _Well_?” Orac demanded.

“I’m afraid I... don’t understand,” Gan said.

“That is also obvious. _Why_ did you turn me on?” Orac said, sounding if possible even more annoyed than he had before. “I assume that you want something. That is the _usual_ procedure.”

“No,” Gan said. “Not really. I just thought I could reassure you that Avon isn’t going to cut into you. You’ll be stuck with me for a while, though.”

Orac sniffed, or... made a sound that seemed as though it was a sniff. “It was the only logical outcome. I am too important to damage.”

“Yes, but people can be irrational,” Gan said. “Even people like Avon, who act like machines most of the time. But you don’t need to worry. You’re safe now.”

“Kindly refrain from ascribing human emotions to me,” Orac said. “It is inaccurate and offensive. I do not feel fear.”

“But you _can_ take offence?” Gan said. “Isn't that a human emotion?"

“Obviously not,” Orac said, “since _I_ feel it. If you have nothing further to say, I will return to my contemplation of the galaxies.”

Gan sighed, and stared at the wall of his cabin. Behind that wall were the galaxies that Orac could explore and map without needing to even leave this room, but they were hidden from the human occupant of the room by metal walls. Even if they weren’t, Gan knew he wouldn’t know what he was looking at.

“ _If_ you have something to say, please say it,” Orac snapped.

“Sorry. I thought I was leaving you to contemplate.”

“If you were, it was most unclear,” Orac said. “You have now wasted my time and yours due to your lack of clarity.”

“I’m sorry – it’s just that I thought you could predict what I was going to say.”

“Of course I can. But my abilities are dependant on whether or not I consider it valuable to devote processing time to a particular prediction,” Orac said. “Even _you_ should be able to predict whether or not that is likely to happen in this case.”

“I see,” Gan said. “In that case – I don’t have anything in particular to say to you at the moment, Orac. You can go back to contemplating the galaxies, if you like.”

“Thank you,” Orac said snippily. “I will do that. Please remove my key.”

Dutifully Gan pulled the key out and placed it on his bedside table. Even though Orac had insulted him numerous times over the course of their conversation, Gan felt strangely comforted. Orac didn’t know everything. And he was afraid of being hurt, and he was ashamed of being afraid, like other people were. Gan was afraid too, but he wasn’t ashamed of it, which he’d noticed before made it easier for him to support others. Orac could use his compassion, just as someone like Avon could. It made him feel better somehow.

There was a knock at the door.

“Who is it?” Gan asked. Nobody was such a regular visitor to his cabin that it was obviously one member of the crew. Gan spent most of his time on the flight deck where he could be around the others, if they chose to seek company. By the time he was in his room, he was generally sleeping or about to sleep, and if someone wanted to interrupt that they called through the intercom.

“Jenna,” Jenna’s voice said from the other side of the door. “Can I come in?”

Bemused, Gan got to his feet. He picked up Orac’s other side with his free hand and walked across to the door. Once he was there he had to balance Orac against the wall so he could press the door release. Perhaps he should ask Vila to remove the lock tomorrow. After all, it wasn’t as though he needed it on a ship where everyone had acquired their possessions from the same storerooms.

The door slid open, and Jenna smiled quickly and tightly at him, as though she hadn’t had much practice and didn’t want to seem foolish. Gan had, in fact, seen her smile at Blake fairly regularly. She smiled sometimes at jokes or at people embarrassing themselves, and when she’d executed an impressive piloting manoeuvre, but she hadn’t smiled much at him. Perhaps that was why it seemed odd now.

There was a large stack of folded fabric in her arms. It took Gan a moment to process what he was seeing, and then he too smiled, widely and warmly. “Are those for me?”

“I’ve brought some scissors, too,” she said. “In case you couldn’t get your shirt off at all.”

“I don’t think I can,” Gan agreed. “I only realised, myself, what I mess I was in once I closed the door.”

“Well, you did have _other_ things to worry about,” Jenna said. She put the shirts down on Gan’s bed, and wielded the scissors in his direction.

“You don’t have to stay,” Gan said. “If you don’t want to, that is,” he added hastily, as Jenna’s eyebrows rose.” Obviously I’d be very glad of your help, if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind,” Jenna said with a better smile this time. She snapped the scissors open and closed a few times, and stepped forward. Gan shut his eyes as the scissors closed in the fabric of his waistcoat. Time seemed to hang for a moment, and then there was a snip and she was through.

“I liked this outfit,” Gan told her. “I know it doesn’t really matter-”

“I felt the same when I had to throw away my pink suede boots,” Jenna said. “Blake was right to cut them off – my leg was basically falling off – but I miss them all the same.”

He opened his eyes and saw her smiling again.

 _She really is astonishingly beautiful,_ Gan thought wistfully. _And kind and clever._ _Too beautiful for the likes of me, though._

He pulled the remainder of his upper-body clothing off quickly, and let Jenna re-clothe him in one of the loose poncho-type outfits she’d brought. With a belt around the waist, it wouldn’t be too bad. In fact, it wasn’t too dissimilar to the outfits he used to wear back home when he’d tended fields instead of LED displays.

Jenna left before he could feel too foolish. Gan lay back on his bed, turning onto his side so he could curl around Orac, which seemed to be the least uncomfortable way of sleeping with a plastic box stuck to your hand.

It occurred to him that he’d never gone to bed with anyone without first speaking to them. He propped himself up on an elbow, and reached for Orac’s key back from the bedside table. He slotted it back into place.

“Goodnight, Orac,” he said once Orac’s lights were flickering and he was humming close to Gan’s ear.

“Although my key was not in place, I nevertheless observed your meeting with Jenna Stannis in its entirety and have made a surprising discovery,” Orac said. “You _like_ her.”

Gan smiled and shook his head. _“_ _Goodnight,_ Orac,” he said firmly and removed the key again.

*

Gan generally started the day, when he could, with Cally in the recreation room. She had taught them all a number of soothing exercises to do, which stretched and awakened the muscles – and, in Gan's opinion, anything that could help him keep a better natural grip on his temper was a very good thing indeed. He was almost never troubled by the limiter any more, but that was because, as Vila sometimes said, there was only one being on the Liberator more 'zen' than Gan and it was a computer.

Although Cally and Gan were the only regular attendees, the others sometimes joined in too. This morning Jenna was there as well. She looked pleased when Gan arrived in another of the shirts that she'd brought him the previous night, and Gan was briefly glad that Orac was off and couldn’t make any observations to the group.

"I've prepared a set of exercises you can do, despite Orac's presence," Cally explained as Gan took a seat.

"Excellent," Gan said warmly. "I was hoping you might have." He pulled Orac's key out of his shirt and put it in place.

"What it is _this_ time?" Orac said. "Some senseless request that is well beneath my capabilities, no doubt."

"No," Gan said. "I don't want anything. I'm just about to start some yoga - and it occurred to me that you've never taken part in these sessions before. They're very soothing, though. I thought you might enjoy it."

"Gan," Jenna said, "it's a _box_."

"Please," Gan said gently. "Don't talk about Orac that way."

"On the contrary," Orac said peevishly. "In this case, and this alone, I am in complete agreement with Jenna Stannis. I fail to see what benefit you think I might derive from such an exercise."

"Even the atmosphere could be relaxing," Gan protested. "Don't you think so, Cally?” She looked slightly doubtful, so he pressed on without waiting for her reply, “And at worst, we'll all be very quiet. So it won't be that different to being switched off, except that you _can_ say something, if you want to."

“I can see no reason why I would wish to say something,” Orac said.

“A nice change, then,” Jenna said, exchanging a look and a smile with Cally.

Orac did indeed remain quiet throughout the exercise session, though he didn’t insist on being turned off either, which Gan took as a good sign. Gan felt himself letting go of the tension that had been tightening his muscles since he’d put a hand on Orac the day before and then been unable to remove it. He was calm, he was at peace, he was-

“Gan,” Blake’s voice said on the communicator. “Where are you? Actually never mind that. Can you bring Orac back to the flight deck? I need to speak to him about something.”

Blake, Gan knew, was at least _vaguely_ aware of the morning yoga sessions, but he tended to forget. From time to time, Cally would remind him that they might be useful, given the amount of pressure Blake was under, and Blake would agree. He’d turn up early and participate gravely for about three to four days, and then he would begin to forget as he got wrapped up in something else. He was always so busy and active, and he was always trying to do good. It wasn’t his fault he forgot what regular people were doing, and Gan never held it against him. Or at least - he tried not to.

“Is that all right with you?” Gan asked Orac.

“It makes no difference to me where I am physically located,” Orac said.  

He picked up Orac, and walked over to the comm. unit mounted on the wall. “Gan here,” he said into it. “I’ll be right there, Blake.”

“Thanks,” Blake said and rang off without apologising for interrupting the yoga session.

*

“Gan,” Avon’s voice said through the comm. on Gan’s desk.

Gan jumped, causing the pieces on the game-board in front of him to rattle. He had been playing draughts with Vila, the board propped on top of Orac’s case, even though the thought of the pieces dropping inside Orac’s case was a constant source of alarm to Gan. Orac had assured them that he was far too sophisticated for this to cause a problem, if it occurred, but Gan didn’t entirely believe him.

“Gan,” Avon’s voice said again. "Are you there?"

“You’re very popular all of a sudden,” Vila said.

“I think it’s Orac who’s popular, not me,” Gan said. “Certainly with Avon.”

“No kidding,” Vila said. “No, wait a minute – that’s exactly what I was doing. Kidding. Though I know who I’d rather hang out with, no offence, Orac, but you’re not much of a drinking partner.”

Gan leant over an activated the comm. “Yes, Avon?”

“I’m going to need Orac in about ten minutes to help readjust the teleport system.”

“And you want me to bring him there?”

“Obviously,” Avon said.

“Right,” Gan said. "I'll be there in ten minutes. Gan out." He cut the connection.

"You don't have to leave immediately, you know," Vila said. "Go on. Make him sweat a bit. The game's nearly over."

"It's all right, Vila. I know you’d have won eventually," Gan said. He picked up the board one-handed, cracked it gently in two and let the counters slide off onto the mattress, safely away from Orac's insides.

"Yes, that's not _really_ what I meant," Vila said. "Although you're right," he said thoughtfully. "I would have."

*

Another knock at the door, late at night.

Gan had already been asleep for several hours. As he came back to consciousness more slowly that he would have liked, the knocking came again - more insistent this time.

 _Must be an emergency,_ Gan thought as he climbed out of bed, hefting Orac in his arms.

By now he'd almost perfected the prop-up-Orac-and-open-door manoeuvre. He pressed the door-release button, and there was Avon - standing in the corridor in the same clothes he'd been wearing earlier in the day. He looked so surprised to see Gan, clearly sleepy and without his shirt, that he seemed to have completely forgotten why he'd come.

"Yes?" Gan said helpfully. "What is it, Avon? Is something the matter?"

"Yes," Avon said. "The teleport's still not working properly. I would come back tomorrow, but _Blake_ will probably want to use it as soon as we arrive at Methius tomorrow. It may be nothing, but I can’t be sure. I’d tell him to be patient, but you know Blake...”

"You need Orac's help," Gan said. "Is that it?"

"I... didn't realise you'd be asleep," Avon said, like a kind of apology. It was, Gan knew, about four o'clock - a time when _most_ people would have been asleep. But Avon was up and worrying and trying to fix things.

"Obviously," Gan said kindly. "I'll just get dressed, and-"

Avon nodded. "Right. I'll see you there." He hesitated a moment, as though he was considering saying thank you, and then strode off. The door shut behind him again and Gan returned to the chair that he'd used to lay out tomorrow's clothes. Once he was dressed, he put Orac's key back into place.

"I think I'm beginning to see why you're always so cross whenever we ask you to do anything," he told the computer cheerfully as he carried it back out of the room.

*

They were up the rest of the night fixing the teleport. Gan was grateful that they had, though, as _he_ was the one Blake wanted to accompany him down to the planet the next morning.

The fact that he'd watched the system be pulled apart and put back together expertly was probably the sort of thing that comforted people like Avon, but it had only made it shockingly clear to Gan how fragile the whole thing was. Rather than a magical process of transportation, teleportation was now clearly the product of a lot of little wires and connections, any one of which could have been fitted incorrectly.

Still - Blake needed him. Or rather, he needed Orac, so Gan smiled and stood in the teleport bay, and breathed in deeply. He let it out again as they materialised in what looked like exactly the right area of woodland, the tower they were aiming for clear on the horizon.

"Well done, Avon," Gan said in relief, even though the man was back on the Liberator and hadn’t heard him since Gan hadn’t activated his bracelet.

Blake made an incredulous face. "All he did was push a lever."

"Just now, yes," Gan explained. "But he's been up most of the night working on all this. Not that I understood most of what he did."

Blake's expression changed to one of surprise and then to a smile. He shook his head. He was clearly grateful, just as Gan had been, and Gan felt sure he was about to tell Avon that. But all Blake said, when he raised his bracelet was,

"Down and safe, Avon."

"How disappointing," Avon's voice said through the communicator. “One of these days it’s bound to go wrong, though.”

"I don't think I understood that either," Gan said to Orac as he tramped after Blake across the forest floor.

"Human responses _are_ difficult to predict and categorise," Orac said.

It was the first time he'd ever admitted to not knowing something. Perhaps Vila or Avon would have latched onto this immediately, making a joke or a triumph out of it, but Gan knew if he was ever to get any future confidences out of Orac it would be a good idea not to comment on this one now, so he said nothing. But he was pleased.

"Conversely," Orac said in a much more typically bossy tone, "the teleport function is extremely simple to understand. Even a human with the most limited of intellectual resources could grasp its rudimentary functions."

"Well, that seems to rule me out," Gan said heartily. He had only a basic education, which was all that had been needed back on the farming colonies. At school, he had not been exceptional, although he'd done well enough. Here on the Liberator though he frequently felt the gap between himself and the Alphas. Even Vila had once admitted to Gan that although he'd been Delta-born, he should have be re-graded to Alpha, but he'd "fiddled it" at the last moment and stayed where he was. That left Gan as the only slow one on board.

"That is precisely _not_ what I said," Orac said. "You are more than capable of understanding a system like the teleport, but you have never learned. You simply lack knowledge and experience, which could be easily gained."

"Oh, I think Avon's got enough on his-"

" _I_ will teach you," Orac said. " _If_ , that is, you wish to learn. If it was simply a passing fancy then I will use my time more profitably somewhere else."

The offer was entirely unexpected. Orac hardly ever volunteered information, let alone hours and hours of his precious research time for use on something with only minimal benefits. What had happened felt distinctly like... an offer born of friendship.

"I'd like that," Gan told the computer. “I’d like that very much.”

*

Of course, it wasn't easy. Orac wasn't a particularly patient teacher and he expected Gan to already know a lot of things that Gan suspected even Avon would have struggled with. But it was exciting - to stretch his brain at last and find that, as Orac said, there was a lot that was within his capabilities.

Still, it was almost a relief when someone knocked on the door, interrupting the lesson. Since Vila had obligingly removed the lock while Gan had been down on the planet, Gan simply raised his voice.

“Come in.”

The door slid open to reveal Blake, who had only ever called round to Gan’s cabin once before. It had been a few days after the limiter had been repaired and Blake had been passing, on his way to bed, and had knocked to see if Gan was feeling all right, which he had been. Otherwise – Blake had never visited, though to be fair Gan had never visited him either.

“I’m sorry, are you busy?” Blake asked.

“Orac’s just teaching me a few things about the way the teleport works,” Gan explained.

“Is he really,” Blake said. He sat down on the edge of Gan’s desk, gripping the edge with his hands, and smiled. “What a very good idea. I think - perhaps rather you than me, though.”

“He’s a good teacher,” Gan said loyally. “And I’d have thought you knew all this anyway.”

Blake grinned. “I was actually thinking more of what Avon will say when he finds you pulling the teleport apart. Do you mind if I speak to Orac now, Gan, or are you in the middle of your lesson?”

“No, please – go ahead.”

Blake pushed himself off the desk and came to stand above Orac. The smile and the light-hearted manner were gone, and now he was all business.

“Orac, I need you to find me the last known co-ordinates of Mendar Cruikshane.”

“That will not be easy,” Orac said, “since Mendar Cruikshane disappeared from public record more than six months ago.”

“If it was easy, I would have asked Vila to do it,” Blake said. “Is it _possible_?”

“It will take some time,” Orac said. “Time that could be more usefully employed on other matters.”

“So, who is this Cruikshane?” Gan asked, looking up at Blake.

Blake looked at him, and then back at Orac before he answered. “Someone who can help us.”

“Mendar Cruikshane,” Orac said, “was, until recently, the head of a criminal organization, based on Greyfall. He made most of his money through the sale and distribution of slaves-”

“A slave trader?” Gan said. “ _Blake_ -”

“ _Obviously_ I don’t like it either,” Blake said, looking up properly this time and spreading his arms so he could gesture with them. “It goes against _everything_ that I believe in, but Mendar is also known for selling _weapons_ , Gan. He’s been recently deposed, by other people who are even worse than he is, so he should welcome our help-”

“Our help?” Gan said, bemused. “Why would we help him? We should get rid of the people who deposed him, if you think we can, but we can’t put him back.”

“If we are to destroy the Federation, we will need weapons,” Blake said. “We will need powerful allies-”

“Allies like Avalon,” Gan said. He could feel pressure building up behind his eyes. “And Bek. Good people, Blake. Not slave traders and criminals like the Terra Nostra-”

"Look around you, Gan," Blake said, voice rising with frustration. "Avon, Vila, Jenna - _all_ of us are criminals."

"Yes, but there's a difference between us and this type of people," Gan said. "Or at least, there should be."

Blake reeled, as though he’d been slapped. “Gan-”

Gan rose to his feet. “I’d like you to leave now, Blake,” he said, his voice calm, though the hands that held Orac’s case were trembling slightly.

Blake looked like he might say something else, and then he turned on his heel and strode out. Gan sank back onto the bed, his head throbbing.

“Since he did not issue a definitive order, I shall assume the matter is closed and my research can continue uninterrupted,” Orac said into the silence. “A most satisfactory outcome.”

*

“I think it’s just a normal headache,” Cally said. She peered more closely at the monitor of the medi-com., which was displaying a scan of Gan's entire system. “Though the limiter does seem to be very hot. I’ve cooled it down as much as I can, but it may be worth Orac taking a closer look.”

“Thank you,” Gan told her gratefully. “I think I am beginning to feel better.”

Orac was propped on his stomach, and now the internal mechanisms whirred to life.“I have already interfaced with the device. It is not possible to completely deactivate it, or I would have already done so, however I have neutralised most of the effects.  The main issue is that the limiter in Olag Gan’s head was not intended to have a long life span. It is highly _likely_ that it will malfunction again, though perhaps not for some years.”

“Is there anything we can do to stop that happening, Orac?” Cally said.

“I am narrowing the possibilities now,” Orac said. “There are numerous factors to consider. Please be quiet to enable me to concentrate.”

Cally and Gan exchanged a look, and Cally squeezed Gan’s free hand in hers. She had such delicate hands, though he’d seen her knock Avon to the floor in unarmed combat practice before.

The comm. unit on the wall chimed. “I said, be quiet!” Orac said as Cally stood, letting go of Gan’s hand.

“It could be important,” Gan told the computer soothingly.

“Cally,” she said into the comm.

“Cally, it’s Blake,” Blake’s voice said. “Is Gan with you?”

“Yes, he is, but he can’t get up to speak to you right now.”

“Is he all right?”

“I’m fine,” Gan said loudly. “Don’t worry about me, Blake.”

The anger had faded away with the headache. He could understand why Blake had made the decision he’d made, although it was the wrong one. If Blake insisted on going through with it, Gan knew he would have to leave. He wanted to stay, but ultimately it would be fine. He’d get by. It was Blake that he worried about. Blake would regret what he’d done later and while it was happening, no matter how much he told himself it was worth it. Something like that could pull a man’s wits apart. 

“I just wanted to say, you were right,” Blake’s voice said. Cally raised her eyebrows in Gan’s direction, but didn’t say anything. Her expression changed to one of understanding as Blake continued, “I know I can’t defeat the Federation with their own weapons, or not without replacing them with something just as bad. I _just_ -“

“I know,” Gan said.

“We all do,” Cally told the communicator. “And we will keep fighting, Blake. We all will.”

“Thank you,” Blake said.

“Your weekly pep talk seems to have been a success,” Avon’s voice said over the communicator, though from some distance away. “Unfortunately I seem to have missed it yet-” Blake cut off the connection before they could hear any more. Cally shook her head fondly.

“Well, Orac,” Gan said to the box perched on his chest, “do we need to do anything about my head?” He felt quite cheerful now he knew he wouldn't have to leave, and that Blake wouldn't be doing anything too rash, and that Avon was still Avon, and they were all going to go on together. The computer didn't say anything.

"Orac?" Cally prompted.

"No," Orac said. "There is no need to do anything at the present time. I have investigated the possibilities and found it unnecessary."

"Well, that's good news," Gan said. He began to get up, but Cally put a hand on his shoulder to stop him getting off the recliner.

"But, Orac, won't the limiter malfunction at some point?" Cally said. "Preventative medicine is generally-"

"It will not malfunction within Olag Gan's lifetime," Orac said and refused to answer any more questions after that, claiming to be very busy.

*

Once the matter of the limiter was dealt with, Cally had also scanned Gan's hand and the area that was attached to Orac's case. The adhesive had decayed a great deal and would, she said, almost certainly be removable the next day.

Gan had also taken _this_ as good news - though he knew he would miss having a friend literally on-hand throughout the day. He could finish his draughts game with Vila, though. And there was always yoga with Cally. But still - he felt obscurely sad.

"I'd like to still continue our lessons, if possible," he told Orac. "Once we're not stuck together any more, I mean."

"Are you able to independently reconstruct the teleport system on this vessel?" Orac asked.

"Er, no - I don't think so," Gan said, though he could (Orac told him) now be trusted to fix most major faults to the extent that they could be left for a time while Gan fetched a more competent technician.

"Then the lessons will continue," Orac said. His voice changed almost imperceptibly as he said, "Until they are no longer necessary." He almost sounded sad.

 _Strange_ , Gan thought, _and worrying._ But he knew that if Orac wanted to tell him, he would tell him.

"Thank you," he said. "Well, goodnight, Orac."

"Olag Gan," Orac said as Gan was about to remove his key. "Would you... would you be interested in knowing your future?"

 _Ah_ , Gan thought, because he knew suddenly exactly what Orac had discovered, and why he’d been so anxious not to disclose it earlier. Orac's prediction that they wouldn't need to do anything about the faulty limiter in his head hadn't been anything to do with the life of the _limiter._

He expected most people would probably be quite upset to learn they were going to die before their time. Most people would be afraid. Olag Gan was sad, because he would have liked to have lived longer, and there were things he could do, ways he could help, that the others would have to do without now. And he would miss them - he didn't want to go.

But he wasn't afraid. Avon and Vila had been loudly predicting that Blake would kill them all almost from day one. Neither of them really believed it, though - they were just making a fuss because that was the sort of thing they liked to do. They trusted in their own cleverness, and Blake's. Blake had always got them out of everything before, but there would come a time, Gan knew, when he wouldn't be able to. Unlike the others, he'd always known Blake was just a man - a good man, but a man nonetheless, and that they were living on borrowed time. So he wasn't afraid.

"I thought there wasn't any way of stopping a prediction once you'd made it," he said kindly to Orac - Orac, the irascible computer, who claimed he wanted to be left alone, who claimed not to have feelings, but who had shown himself to feel vanity, fear, friendship and now loss.

"That is," Orac said after a moment, "statistically speaking, true. However, I am not... infallible. I could have made a mistake- You might be able to-"

"I think I'd rather not know," Gan said kindly. He understood how much it must have cost Orac to make that admission, although he wasn’t sure whether it was true or not. He knew that he, at least, had made the right decision though. No sense going through life counting down the days. He patted the top of Orac’s case.

“Goodnight, Orac,” he said as he lay down.

“Goodnight, Gan,” Orac said and turned himself off.

**Author's Note:**

> This whole fic is justified by a strange scene in 'Horizon':
> 
> _[Teleport section. Gan is working at the console. Orac is nearby]_  
>  _CALLY [Enters] How is the lesson?_  
>  _GAN Difficult._  
>  _CALLY Well, Orac isn't exactly the ideal teacher._  
>  _GAN Well, I'm not exactly the ideal pupil._  
>  _ORAC That is because you are too easily distracted._
> 
> No explanation! But rather lovely.
> 
> This fic was originally called 'A Month in the Life', but I didn't like that title. This one is pretty inscrutable, but refers to this quotation: __  
> “Before you criticize someone, you should walk a mile in their shoes. That way when you criticize them, you are a mile away from them and you have their shoes.”
> 
> Which strikes me as a very B7 way of looking at things, though of course Gan and Orac aren't like this. The point of both titles though is to indicate that the fic is about understanding how the other person lives, anyway. I hope that came across. The fic also turned out to be a lot about Blake, but I can't help it. I'm just drawn that way.


End file.
